


Making Waves

by Syven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11230317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syven/pseuds/Syven
Summary: Originally written on 05/08/2008. Written for the_rainbow_jen on LJ in response to her prompt.Dark, creepy and with a twist.





	Making Waves

He didn't know if it was the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks or the way the sun glinted off the rippling swells or even the way the sand under the water just _slipped_ between your toes _just right_ but Dean Thomas loved the ocean. Any ocean. He wasn't monogamous about it, oh no. He loved each and every one of them with equal passion and his art made that clear for all to see. 

His male friends joked that Dean could never settle down, not with his heart so tightly held by the water. Even his best friend, Seamus Finnegan, had long since given up trying to understand it but, to his credit, still staunchly defended Dean around the pub table on Friday night. Neville also defended him, pointing out that he was quite happy tending his plants but Dean wasn't quite sure that argument actually helped - still, it was that kind of loyalty that made Neville who he was.

Every once in a blue moon, when they were well into their cups and teasing Dean about all the traveling he did, Harry would get particularly pissed and mutter something about a girl with the same far-away look in her eyes as Dean and then Ron would cut him off. 

There were some tiger cages you didn't poke a stick into and the subject of one Ginevra Molly Weasley was persona non-gratis around one Harry James Potter, even four years on from her disappearance. Although, from the way Neville shifted uncomfortably, Dean had a fairly good idea that she hadn't really disappeared so much as didn't want to be found. 

Giving his head a shake to concentrate once more, Dean focused on the canvas before him, automatically dipping his paintbrush into three colors then swirling the tip at a 90 degree angle counter-clockwise to mix them. Dabbing at the canvas, his peripheral vision picked up a splash of red hair and, invariably, he thought of the smallest Weasley that he'd fallen for so long ago in Hogwarts. With a movement born of many smudged canvases, Dean drew his paintbrush back as he turned his head. 

Now, there's always going to be moments in your life where you say 'what if'. And, undoubtedly, for 99.98% of those moments, you aren't going to have a _clue_ what the answer could be. You'll shake your head and feel the solution is _just_ out of reach but it's elusive in a humiliating way. 

But, then there were those .02% moments. Those rare, _oh… OhmysweetMerlin_ moments when you just _know_ you're connecting with the universe on a molecular level and you can't figure out if that's good or bad. 

Well, that's the sort of the feeling Dean had when his gaze fell on the owner of the red hair and the breath filling his lungs evaporated because a mere thirty feet away from him, on a 'locals only' beach on the Jamaican coast, stood one Ginny Weasley wearing a black wetsuit that was shucked off at the waist, leaving her royal blue bikini top visible above the top half of the wetsuit flopping against her bottom as she waxed a surfboard. 

Like a golden goddess, skin deeply tanned and freckles dotted the landscape of visible skin with rabidity that seemed to melt together right down to the slim taper of her curvaceous hips. Her long, red hair was braided down her back but a few wild, rebellious tendrils had escaped and now brushed at her cheek and forehead as she worked diligently. 

Dean blinked, feeling the collar of his T-shirt was suddenly far too tight for comfort, as her gaze tracked past him without pause. _'Well, isn't that a kick in the pants, Mr. Thomas,'_ He told his astonished self, turning his head now to disguise the fact that he was watching her but watch her, he did. _'Bloody hell.'_

While it was true that he'd grown his hair longer and now wore it in thick braids, Dean didn't think he'd changed all that much from the last time he'd seen her at Ron and Hermione's wedding. Her lack of recognition stung, considering their relationship in school and their subsequent close friendship. At least _he'd_ thought they were close but then again, she had disappeared without a word to him and perhaps that was more telling than he cared to consider.

Quickly, without thinking on the why's, Dean added Ginny to the canvas, rapidly dashing out thin lines to define her form and features, tapping an outline of a miniature surfboard sticking up out of his imaginary sand. His Ginny grasped the surfboard with her left hand, holding it steady as she applied the wax with her right as the real Ginny did the same. 

Caught up in a frenzy of quickly dabbed strokes, Dean glanced up to find that she was gone. His gaze tracked the immediate area quickly and he easily picked her out of the natives, striding down the beach with her surfboard under her arm and, in the next instant, she was wading into the water. 

Staggering to his feet and hurrying down to the edge of the water, he meant to call out to her but she was already too far away to hear him over the crash of the waves. 

He stood there, in a loud Hawaiian shirt and cutoffs, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip watching as she suddenly rose up out of the water. Dean felt his blood drain out of his face as she deftly scrambled onto the board and, within seconds, was dancing along the narrow surface as she steered it through the waves. Transfixed, he watched with awe the sheer freedom that lit up on her face. 

Returning to his stool and canvas, Dean resumed his painting, keeping check on her as he did but before he knew what happened, the sun was setting and she was striding back up the beach. He quickly put his paints to the side and jogged over to intercept her but a tall, muscled Jamaican man with short dreadlocks stepped into his path.

"Are you enjoyin' da island, man?" the stranger asked, his accent deep and thick in its sing-song nature. 

Dean looked past the stranger and nodded absently, answering. "Yes, yes, thank you. If you'll excuse me, I think I see an old friend and I…"

"Oh, I think you be watchin' the girl all day, ya. Jacob be thinkin' you see da pretty girl and you be wantin' to snuggle up," the man continued easily, putting a hand out to stop Dean from moving around him. 

Suddenly, Dean was all too aware of how 'local's only' the beach was and he stammered. "Look, mate, you have it all wrong. We went to school together. Hell, we…"

"Jacob? Is everything all right?" Ginny asked, suddenly appearing at the Jamaican's side. She looked straight at Dean without a glimmer of recognition and then back up at the man she'd called Jacob.

The Jamaican folded his arms across his tattooed chest. "Do ya know this boy, Red? He be sayin' you takin' da same schoolin'."

"Oh? I'm sorry, but I went to a rather large school and I am terrible with faces," she shrugged, coolly, as she apologized to Dean.

Now that she was closer, any doubts Dean had evaporated completely – even her voice was the same. He couldn't begin to fathom why she was pretending not to know him but he wasn't about to walk away now. "Ginny, it's me. Dean. Dean Thomas. Merlin's beard, we _dated_!"

"I think you have me mixed up with someone else," her tone cut to the quick, cold and final.

Dean stepped forward, automatically reaching for her, his eyes pleading. "Ginny, don't do this. Please!"

"That's not Red's name, mister. It's an honest mistake, man, so far from home, to be seein' things you be missin'. Impartin' a bit of our rum, make a man bolder than be wise. Why don't you let Jacob help you back to your hotel?" the native offered, his tone consoling and kind but the hand he gripped Dean's arm with was solid steel. While he steered Dean back to his paints, Ginny melted away into the crowd, glancing back as she did.

"Look, I know how this sounds but I'm not seeing things. Your 'Red', she's 21, right? Her accent – it's English, like mine, right? She's got six… five brothers, loves to cook and play Q… sports." Dean stated, trying to reason with the fellow. 

The look the tall, muscular Jamaican gave him was one of pure pity. "Red be in her 20's, yah man but that be an easy guess, little thing that she is and there's the truth that she's an English Rose, man. But that be where da likeness be stoppin'. Now, Jacob can see you ain't a bad, man, but the lady, she's not be your friend."

"Are you and she… can you just give her a note, please? I promise I will leave her alone if you do," Dean hedged, pawing through his backpack quickly for a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled quickly and folded the note twice before holding it out to the other man who hesitated, then took it.

He wanted to stop the Jamaican when he began to unfolded the paper but he held his tongue as the other man read the four, little words - _I won't tell Harry._ \- then nodded and said he would deliver it. With a final long look, the stranger walked away, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts - thoughts that plagued him as he showered, going over memories of the last time they'd seen each other as he ate his dinner in the hotel restaurant. 

_The crowded back garden of the Burrow was filled with music and the din of humanity but Dean had made it back in time to attend the wedding of long-time friend, Ron Weasley. Making his way through the clusters of wedding goers, he'd caught a glimpse of his former girlfriend in the distance and he found himself blinking at the sudden sense of loss. A hard shake of his head did nothing to relieve the sullen sorrow that hung over him as he watched her walk between guests toward him._

_"Dean!" Ginny had glanced up, her face brightening sharply and for a moment, Dean thought she was going to hug him but in the next second, with a quick look over her shoulder, Ginny had stopped short, her hands clasping in front of her. "It's good to see you. Are you all right? You looked… well, like someone crossed your grave."_

_He shook his head, a smile curling on his lips. "Just an old shadow, nothing to worry about. You look lovely, truly. Can I steal you away for a dance?"_

_"That would be lovely," she answered with a shy blush, taking his offered hand. They moved to the area set aside for dancing and Dean fitted her slender form to him with the very first step, his heart giving the same skip it had when she'd first pressed those soft lips to his in the sixth row on the left of the Hogwarts library._

_He spun her and Ginny had pressed her cheek to his chest, forgoing polite conversation as they swayed to the music. In the moments between the soft puff of her sigh on his shirt and the last, lingering note of the song, Dean had felt the impossible swell of a longing he'd thought long dead but Ginny had thanked him softly for the dance with a wistful smile before disappearing into the crowd._

The hotel had a disco, a living thing that flashed with colored lights to the heavy reggae music pumped out by the DJ, but Dean took his drink out onto the veranda overlooking the ocean, leaning against the railing watching the stars twinkle in the distance as the waves barreled up onto the beach below. 

Despite the Jamaican's jesting, he hadn't indulged in the island's signature rum preferring a good Irish Guinness instead and he was taking a drink of the dark lager when he noticed a figure approaching out of the darkness and Dean blinked in surprise to see that his friend's mysterious doppelganger standing beneath the rail he leaned against.

"You gave Jacob a message for me," she said softly, her voice muffled by the fact that she faced away from him as she spoke, looking out over the ocean. 

Dean straightened and set his bottle on the flat surface of the rail before answering. "I did." He barely paused when he hurriedly added. "I meant it. I mean it… Ginny?"

"Walk with me," she stated shyly, glancing around before stepping out of the pool of light from the club doorway and fading into the darkness beyond. He hurried down the steps to the sand to join her as she picked her way lazily toward the water. 

Now, beside her, he could see that she wore a pair of hole-ridden, faded denims that slung low on her hips and the same royal blue, bikini top she'd been wearing earlier. Dean was content to steal glances down at her lithe form but when they approached the water's edge, he curled a hand around her bicep and drew her to a stop as he faced her. "It is you, isn't it? Merlin, like I could forget you, Ginny. What…"

"You shouldn't have come here, Dean," she murmured softly, gently but firmly extracting her arm from his grip and taking a small step back.

"Why? I don't understand what this is all about, Ginny. What was that on the beach this afternoon?" he asked, working to keep his voice neutral.

Keeping her gaze on the point where the darkened horizon met the ocean, Ginny licked her lips and answered. "I've learned that it's generally better if people don't know where I am."

"That sounds a bit dramatic, don't you think? I'm sure your folks, your brothers, would be thrilled to know you were all right, at least. They worry about you," he reasoned, turning toward her as he spoke. Even in the dim lighting, he could see that she looked vibrant and healthy, a sharp contrast to the too-thin, drawn woman he'd danced with at Ron's wedding.

Ginny laughed, tilting her head to look up at him, and answered with a question of her own. "I'd be willing to bet that they don't talk about me at all." 

She turned now, to face him and shifted closer, folding her arms across her chest. "There's a reason Weasley's are all Gryffindor's, Dean. Loyalty is in our blood."

"But Ron…" he said, hesitating. His gaze darkened as he watched her, struggling with the confusing mixture of feelings that swirled around him. While it was true that he didn't make a habit of picking up strange women, Dean was hardly what you might call a monk. Still, the freedom and vibrancy she exuded quickened his pulse and clouded the doubts he'd felt that morning.

"Ron was fine when he Floo'd me two days ago from the Burrow. Charlie even visits about once a month although I think that has more to do with my friend, Isabella, then me these days," Ginny turned and patted his arm, sliding her hand down to take his. 

With a shy smile, she tugged gently and he followed down the beach and when she stopped to kick off her sandals, he hurriedly did the same. Taking his hand again, she leaned close as they walked, her soft, bare shoulder brushing against his arm. "What I think you mean is that Harry gives the impression that I abandoned everyone."

As the gentle swoosh of the waves played about their feet, Dean stopped, remembering the cloudy look that had come over Harry's face the last time he'd mentioned her. "Is that why you left? Did you and Harry…" He couldn't even voice the abstract thoughts racing through his mind. 

Harry Potter was the savoir of the Wizarding world and a larger-than-life Auror whose escapades thrilled the population. There was little the wizard could do to tarnish his imagine in the eyes of their society and therein lay too many uncomfortable possibilities. Suddenly, Neville's odd shifting in his seat and Ron's closed-mouth reaction to his sister's name took on a completely different light.

"I can't risk him finding me again, Dean. Not after New Zealand," she said softly, turning her left arm over to reveal a nasty, jagged scar running the length of the soft skin to the elbow. 

"What… what do you mean? Again? What happened in New Zealand?" he asked, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of what had caused that scar and he reached out unconsciously to brush his fingers along the length. 

A hard frown unconsciously creased his forehead and his gaze shot up to meet her surprisingly placid stare. Drawing her arm back from his touch, she sighed heavily. "I got careless. Two quiet years and the owls, the disturbing owls, had finally stopped coming. Merlin, even Charlie thought it was over." Ginny looked back toward the hotel and laughed wryly. "Didn't have Jacob around then - right treasure he is. Do you mind if I sit?"

"Not at all," Dean shook his head in amazement but followed her to the sand, noticing for the first time that she didn't quite bend her left leg all the way.

"Thanks. It's the cool air at night that gets to me. Where was I?" she rested her arms on her knees and gave him a weak smile.

"Charlie."

"Ah yes. He'd convinced me to visit him - a mate of his got a Portkey in his name for me and off I went. Had a brilliant week and came home to find Harry on my doorstep," Ginny's voice caught but she swallowed hard and continued. "I… I was forced to defend myself, almost didn't get away."

"How… I don't understand, what happened?"

She looked up, blinking back tears, answering. "It started about six months after the Battle. Small things at first, like finding him in the Quidditch stands during practice. I thought it was sweet in that Harry sort of way but then it started getting creepy and we… argued. The next thing I knew, my leg was fractured in three places and he was 'dreadfully sorry'. A friend helped me escape St. Mungo's ward the next afternoon."

"Neville."

Running a hand through her hair, Ginny took a shaky breath. "Ron thinks something happened to him during the Battle - when he died. He's convinced that Voldemort left more than a horcrux in Harry. I don't know, really - I don't want to know, not now."

There was a long pause, broken only by the gentle swooshing of the waves in the darkness and then Dean shot to his feet abruptly, stammering. "Are you going to _Obliviate_ me?"

"No. Your note said you wouldn't tell Harry. I believe you," she didn't even glance up, as if expecting his flight all along. Ginny rose and fastidiously brushed the sand from her jeans.

"I won't but I… this is a bit much for me to take. Harry's not… he wouldn't hurt a mouse. I don't know what your deal is, Ginny, but I won't say a word," Dean said firmly, grateful that the night hid his uncomfortable expression.

Ginny gave a sad chuckle, shaking her head as she turned and disapparated.

Dean left the island at first light, returning home with a dozen or more paintings to add to his gallery in Diagon Alley and even managed to look Neville in the eye when he asked if Dean had enjoyed his time on Jamaica. He had shifted his gaze away but answered neutrally, turning the conversation to Neville's class plan for his latest batch of First Years.

When they saw each other again, it was for their Friday night gathering and the evening was already in full swing when Dean arrived. Sliding onto the bench beside Neville, the past week of sinking doubts and queasy misgivings rose to the surface and he could not meet his old friend's stare. The coolly arched, measured stare Neville gave him made him swallow thickly with unasked, uneasy questions.

"Dean! Old man! Where'd you take yourself off to this time?" Harry exclaimed in slurred delight, the pint glasses before him were evidence of Dean's late arrival.

Ron met his gaze evenly across the table but his jaw tightened with almost imperceptive tension as Dean opened his mouth to response. "Nothing new, Harry, just the islands again. The water there is so clear - it's really quite amazing with beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see." 

"You make it sound so inviting. What do you say, Ron? We're due for a bit of a holiday," Harry leaned back and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Shifting in his seat, Ron laughed wryly, his gaze sliding away from Dean. "It sounds dead boring, mate. Besides, you know Robards would pitch a fit if we took any more time off this year."

"True, that," Harry chuckled, his green eyes glinting with a focus that belied the amount of lager he had drunk. "I'll have to live vicariously through Dean's paintings, won't I? What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support my classmates?"

The evening passed without further mention of Dean's travels and, when Neville dropped him off on his doorstep in the early hours of the morning, he'd clapped the quiet man on the shoulder harder then usual, slurring his words as he said. "I knew it. Wouldn't hurt a mouse."

"Sweet Merlin, what have you done, Dean?" Neville exclaimed, his eyes widening in horror and glancing around frantically as his friend blinked in confusion. Grasping him by the shoulders, Neville gave him a hard shake. "You didn't bloody tell him which island, did you? Oh, buggering bloody hell, please tell me you didn't…"

"I didn't think…" Dean's words fell on deaf ears as Neville wrenched himself away, dashing off into the darkness as Dean struggled to keep himself upright on the door jab. With a bewildered shake of his head, he let himself into his flat and collapsed on the sofa.

Dean woke to the blinding sunlight streaming into the room and he sat up slowly, holding his head as the events of the evening came back to him. Remembering his friend's uncharacteristic actions, he staggered to the bathroom and unearthed a sobering potion from the depths of his medicine cabinet. As he drank it down, Dean found the portkey in his travel bag and tucked it into his pants pocket, letting himself out of the flat.

He disapparated to the East gate of Hogwarts and it was well past 10 a.m. when he found himself in the dungeons, at Neville's doorstep. Knocking brought an elf to the door that turned him away, telling him the master had not returned from the previous day and to call again after classes. 

It was only then, after the door slammed shut behind him, that a sense of slow dread began to creep over him and, if any student had looked out over the courtyard, they'd have been shocked to find the tall wizard racing across the lower garden toward the gate. Once clear of the apparition barriers, Dean pulled his portkey out and triggered it, hanging onto the rusted key chain with all his might when the sand appeared suddenly beneath him.

The hotel loomed on the hill and Dean scrambled up the beach, bursting through the doors only to realize that he had no idea where Ginny lived or how to contact her. Running a hand over his face, he twisted around trying to catch sight of something, anything that might ring a bell, jog his memory and he was caught sight of the muscular Jamaican who'd been with Ginny that day. Dashing across the room, he grabbed him by the arm, saying. "Jacob! There you are! Jacob, you have to help me, mate. I think she might be in danger… Jacob, what is it?"

"Who you be, man? What 're ja up for, yeah?" the native drawled slowly, looking over Dean blankly.

"The little redhead, from the beach… Where does she live?" Dean implored, his stomach clenching as he took in the tell-tale signs of a memory modification.

Jacob laughed heartily and gestured toward the water. "Ah, you be the second bloke asking after the little girly. She be down the lane, the green cottage at the end of the road."

_'I was forced to defend myself.'_

Dean raced down the gravel path, ducking under the low hanging branches of the palm trees that lined the road and flew past the neat rows of tiny cottages on either side. Rounding the corner, he skidded to a stop in the gravel, loose stones clattering as the run-down little hut came into sight. In the open windows, white lace curtains fluttered in the ocean breeze, innocently contrasting the dark, hunched form slumped on the rickety wooden stairs leading to the front door.

"Neville!" he gasped, panting from his exertions but keeping his voice low, glancing furtively toward the door as he knelt beside his friend. Reaching out, Dean inhaled sharply as Neville's head lolled freely backwards, his eyes vacant and unblinking. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Dean would have feared the worse but, as it was, he felt only grim relief – he'd been _obliviated_. 

Drawing his wand, Dean stepped past Neville and gave the front door a gentle push, standing aside as it opened before stepping into the shadowed living room. The light filtered into the small space through the open window, illuminating a battered sofa and low coffee table propped up at one corner by a small stack of well-worn, paperback books.

"Ginny?" he whispered as loudly as he dared, holding his wand out cautiously as he moved into the middle of the room. Methodically taking in the overturned chair and scattered papers littering the far end of the space, where a doorway led to a darkened room beyond.

A soft whimper drew his sharp attention and Dean gripped his wand harder when Harry stepped from the darkness, pushing Ginny ahead of him by the arm. Her gaze dropped but not before he saw the apology mirrored there as Harry tisk'd loudly, saying. "Dean, Dean, Dean… I had hoped that you would be a good boy and stay away but I had a feeling you would show up. You always do."

"What's going on here, Harry? What's wrong with Neville?" Dean asked, trying to affect a tone of normality.

Harry jerked Ginny forward a step, turning her to show his wand pressed into the small of her back. He drew her back, nuzzling her hair as he said. "Neville will be fine, Dean. He just hit his head and needs a moment to catch his breath. In the meantime, Ginny here was just telling me how happy she is to be coming home, weren't you, babe?"

She shivered and leaned away from his touch but nodded shakily, her brown eyes pleading as they flickered between Dean and the door. Dean stood a bit straighter, his wand still raised but without a thought as to what he might cast. "Harry, maybe we should sit down and talk about this, yeah? I know you've been under a lot of strain lately and…"

"I don't think so, Dean," Harry gave a flick his wand and Dean froze in place, his wand clattering to the worn wooden floor as the non-verbal body-bind took hold. Harry grabbed Ginny by the chin and forced her to look at the tall, dark wizard, purring smugly. "He's so predictable, isn't he? So noble and trusting, a true Gryffindor through and through but not terribly bright – leading me to you again. I'd like to think of him as my very own blood hound but this is getting a might tiresome now."

"Please, no… Harry… I'll come quietly. There's no need to…" Ginny whispered, her free hand unclenching slowly and, in blink of an eye, Dean's wand was in her hand.

Harry laughed in amusement as she twisted in his grip, as if he'd expected her every move. With a hard shove, he pushed her to the floor and said. " _Crucio_!" 

Ginny writhed in agony, gasping for breath and, after a moment, the spell lifted. Crouching beside her, Harry smiled indulgently, reaching out to brush her sweat-soaked hair away from her face. "I'm sorry you forced me to do that, babe, but you know it's for your own good. What kind of world is it when a man has to teach his fiancée not to raise a wand against him, I ask you, Dean?"

Glancing over to Dean, he continued in the same calm, even manner of speaking as he conjured a gag and a strip of cloth that he used to tie her hands behind her back before he moved over to where Dean stood frozen in place. "I'm afraid this is going to have to be a bit stronger than I've used in the past, Dean. I just can't risk you poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Harry, I'm your friend… you don't want to…" Dean stammered, frantically trying to think of something, anything, to stop Harry. His references to past encounters confused and frightened the artist deeply.

The Boy Who Lived circled his friend slowly, stopping just out of his field of vision to say. "Oh, but I do. I'd like to take care of this permanently but that would draw too much attention to me. You've made too much of a goody-goody of yourself for anyone to be convinced that you are a Dark Wizard so that really limits my options. Now, ha ha, hold still – this might hurt a little." 

"Hmmmyyy! MMmmm! Eeemmmm!" Ginny struggled frantically against her bonds, her pleas muffled by the gag.

_"Stupify,"_ Harry cast with a long-suffering sigh, ending the witch's protests before returning his attention to their friend. Lifting his wand, he gave Dean a pat on the cheek and grinned broadly as he began casting.

~

The pub was already in full swing when Dean arrived, hanging his denim jacket on the peg by the door and raising a hand to the rest of the Friday night gang already sequestered at the large table in the back. His smile broadened to see Neville had saved his spot and he slid into the bench beside the quiet professor, clapping him on the shoulder happily.

"Dean! Old man! Where'd you take yourself off to this time?" Harry exclaimed in slurred delight, the pint glasses before him were evidence of Dean's late arrival.

Ron met his gaze blankly across the table, then shifted away as he blinked several times. Dean replied, cheerfully. "Nothing new, Harry, just the islands again. The water there is so clear - it's really quite amazing with beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see." 

"You make it sound so inviting. What do you say, Ron? We're due for a bit of a holiday. We could treat the girls to a nice long weekend. Ginny's been a bit down since Charlie's accident." Harry leaned back and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Thank Merlin, he's going to recover. Bloody dragon! The healers are saying he might have some memory loss," Ron frowned, shifting in his seat, looking as if he were trying to remember something and then shook his head, laughing wryly. "Robards might pitch a fit if we took any more time off this year but Hermione has been complaining about the rain."

"Then it's settled. What do you suggest, Dean?" Harry chuckled, his green eyes glinting with a focus that belied the amount of lager he had drunk.

Dean was momentarily distracted by the barmaid bringing his lager, freezing in place for a second as he stared at the dark glass. A thought lingered in the back of his mind but it skittered away when he tried to focus on it. Finally, he shook his head, shaking off the feeling of déjà vu and answered. "Hawaii is right brilliant this time of year."


End file.
